


The Reaping: Gale's POV

by ObsessedtwibrarianOTB



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB/pseuds/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was going through Gale Hawthorne's mind on the day of the reaping?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reaping: Gale's POV

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t read books the same way other people do, apparently. Everyone else seems to immediately identify with the hero/heroine. It’s always easier to root for the winners and smile contentedly when the story ends “happily ever after” for them. 
> 
> Not me. I’m always drawn to the silent characters, the ones who’ve been denied a voice by their very creator. I gave Edward Cullen a voice in my Twilight stories when Stephenie Meyer refused to let him speak. I’m doing the same thing now for Gale Hawthorne, who is probably the most misunderstood (and sometimes hated) character in The Hunger Games series. But, we must never forget that there are always two sides to every story. We already know Katniss’s side. This is Gale’s…
> 
> (The actual dialogue from The Hunger Games is used in this one-shot. Of course, it belongs to Suzanne Collins.)

**~ GALE ~**

“You’re up early. Going hunting?”

I’m already dressed and ready to go by the time my mother bustles into the kitchen to begin scrounging together something palatable for everyone’s breakfast. I part the threadbare curtains and glance outside. The sun is just starting to peek through the trees in the distance. It looks like it’s going to be a good day for hunting and foraging.

“Yes, and I’m going to bring back something special for us tonight.”

My mother smiles in silent thanks, but the smile never reaches her eyes. We both know we probably won’t be celebrating tonight. Forty-two pieces of paper with my name on them. My time has finally come, but we don’t speak of it. We carry on as if this day is different from no other.

“Is Katniss hunting with you?” she asks, and there’s mischief in her eyes.

I smile indulgently and sigh at her good-natured teasing. This is nothing new for us. “Yes, Mother. Katniss is hunting with me.”

“She’ll make some lucky man a good wife. She’s a fine girl. Strong, and a survivor.”

I nod in silent agreement. She is all of that and more, but I keep my feelings to myself, as I always do when it comes to Catnip.

“I’ve got to go.” I lean down and kiss my mother’s cheek and wonder if it’s the last kiss I’ll ever give her. But no. Even if my name is called today in the square, I’ll be given one more chance to say goodbye. But still, for some reason, the words won’t stay inside of me today.  “I love you, Mom,” I whisper before pulling away.

She stops what she is doing and turns to face me. As she so often reminds me, I’m now as tall as my father was, so she has to reach up to take my face in her hands.

“I love you, too, my son.” She rises up on her tip-toes, and I bend down so she can kiss me, but not on the cheek. She’s always kissed me on the nose for as long as I can remember. “I want you to know I’m so very proud of you, Gale. And your father would have been proud, too. You’ve stepped into his shoes like you’ve worn them all your life and taken care of this family. You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

Her words are meant to make me feel proud, but they have the opposite effect. No one knows what I really feel, not even my mother. The truth is, I love my family, but I hate my life. I love my home, but I hate The Seam. There is so much anger raging inside of me, and nowhere for it to go. I scare myself sometimes with the amount of hatred I have in my heart. But no one sees this side of me, except for Katniss. I don’t know what to say in response to my mother’s praise, so I settle for giving her one last kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

Our eyes meet and we silently acknowledge that today is not an ordinary day no matter how much we want it to be. Today it really doesn’t matter that I’ve grown into a fine young man or that Katniss is a strong girl who’ll make someone a good wife someday. It doesn’t matter that the sun is shining and the weather will be good for hunting. The only thing that really matters is life will change forever for two families in District 12 today. I have a leaden feeling in the pit of my stomach that my family will be one of them.

“Be careful,” my mother says. Then she takes a deep breath and smiles bravely. We’re back to pretending that everything is normal.

“I will.”

I shut the kitchen door behind me and look to the horizon. The sun has almost fully awakened now. I have to hurry if I’m going to get to the Meadow on time. I want a loaf of fresh bread to share with Katniss, so I need something valuable to trade. A squirrel finds the end of my arrow and I’m in business. Mr. Mellark, our baker, likes squirrel and is happy to have the promise of meat on his table tonight, and I’m happy I’ll have something special to share with Katniss this morning.

I make my way back from the bakery, through the nearly empty black-cinder streets and toward the edge of The Seam. Everything in this part of town is covered with a thin layer of coal dust. The buildings have streaks of gray and black bleeding from their eaves and windows, sooty rivulets that reach clear down to the ground. They remind me of tears—the tears of the countless widows and orphans whose husbands and sons, fathers and brothers have lost their lives in those dark caverns beneath the ground.

I quicken my pace and force my thoughts away from the depressing landscape around me. I set my sights on the forest in the distance. My spirits rise with each step that brings me closer to those woods. By the time I reach the chain link fence, I’m smiling. It seems wrong somehow to be happy on the day of The Reaping, but I can’t help myself. The time I spend in the woods hunting with Katniss is the only thing that keeps me sane. She is the only person who understands me. I can be myself with her, and that means more to me than anything else in this godforsaken world.

 

*************

From the top of the mountain, the view is stunning. Everything is green and fresh, clean and alive. The sky is already an intense blue and empty of even the wispiest of clouds. The trees in the distance seem to glow from the light of the morning sun rising behind them. Dew still sparkles on the leaves of the berry bushes that hide our secret meeting place. Katniss isn’t here yet, so I make myself comfortable inside the rock ledge that protects us from the prying eyes of the Capitol.

As I cradle the warm loaf of bread in my arms, my thoughts turn to what lies ahead of us at two o’clock: the Reaping, the Capitol’s yearly reminder to it’s downtrodden and starving citizens that rebellion is a futile act that will have long-lasting consequences. My name is in the Reaping bowl forty-two times. What are the odds that I’ll be picked? They aren’t “ever in my favor”, that’s for damned sure.

I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I’ll be fighting for my life before the week is out, and like every other person whose name is in that bowl, I’m wondering if I’ll survive it. I know in my heart I’ll fight with every bit of strength I have in me, and I’ll kill whoever I have to kill so I can return home to my family, but I can’t get out of my mind the fact that there are twenty slips of paper in that same bowl with Katniss’s name on them. Twenty isn’t as bad as forty-two, but it’s still too many for my comfort. What would I do if she were picked to fight alongside of me? It’s a long-shot, but I still can’t get the thought out of my head. Just as I know in my heart that I’ll kill whoever I have to to survive, I also know that I’ll never kill my Catnip. I’ll put a knife into my own heart first. As the sun finally breaks free of the treetops, I say a silent prayer it will not be her.

Then I hear a noise on the hillside below me that doesn’t belong. It’s Katniss, finally. On impulse, I yank a fresh arrow from behind my back and stab it into the loaf of bread. There’s not much to laugh about in The Seam, so whatever it takes to bring that beautiful smile to Catnip’s face, I’ll do it. She pushes aside the berry bushes and, yes, she’s smiling. She never does that anywhere else but in the woods, which is another reason I love the time I spend here with her. If she only knew what that smile does to me.

“Look what I shot.” I hold up the loaf of bread and she laughs, just as I hope.

She takes the bread in her hands and raises it to her nose. “Mm, still warm. What did it cost you?”

“Just a squirrel. Old man Mellark was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck.”

“Well, we all feel a little closer today, don’t we?” she says, pulling out a parcel. “Prim left us a goat cheese.”

“Thank you, Prim,” I say, grinning with anticipation. “We’ll have a real feast.” And because I never pass up an opportunity to ridicule our oppressors in the Capitol, I pluck a few blackberries from the bush next to me and announce with that ridiculous accent of theirs, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds—“ I toss a berry high in the air and in Katniss’s direction. Her aim is as good as always. She catches it in her mouth and laughs.

“—be ever in your favor!” she finishes with a flourish.

I pull out my knife and go to work on the bread, slicing it carefully into just the right thicknesses. While I work, and while Katniss picks berries to go with our food, I ponder how I’m going to bring up something I’ve been thinking about for a very long time: escaping District 12. As I spread the cheese over the slices, I consider how best to approach her with my idea.  I’d lain in bed at night and gone over it my head so many times these past weeks. It would work, if only I could convince her. With Katniss’s skill with a bow and my snares, we could escape and easily live off of the land until we could make it to 13, and safety. _A new life…_

“We could do it, you know,” I say quietly.

“What?” she asks.

“Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.”

Her silence speaks volumes to me. I know her objections without her even saying them. I know her so well. “If we didn’t have so many kids,” I add quickly.

Speaking my idea aloud makes me realize what an unrealistic dream world I’m living in. I know Katniss better than anyone, and I know in my heart she’ll never go along with it. She’ll never abandon her family, and, in all honesty, neither will I. It’s all just a wonderful dream in my mind, and I’m a fool for even bringing it up.

But still, I wonder if she ever lays in bed at night, like me, and thinks about our life? Does she not ask herself how long we can continue to live like this?? Doesn’t she feel trapped, as I do? Isn’t the risk of leaving worth it to be out from under the thumb of the Capitol? To me, it is worth it, a hundred times over, just to be able to breathe free and be the master of my own life.

“I never want to have kids,” she says.

Her comment takes me by surprise. As much as she loves and adores Prim, and she never wants children of her own?? How can she say that?

“I might. If I didn’t live here,” I say. Bringing kids into this world as it is now would be a terrible thing to do, but not if we’re living somewhere else. I want children, but only if they are born into freedom.

“But you _do_ ,” she says, and I hear the irritation in her voice. Katniss. Ever the realist. Why doesn’t she ever think outside the box? Why does she so easily accept things as they are and never strive to change them?

“Forget it,” I snap back angrily.

At two o’clock, we will all blindly go to the square like passive little sheep and await our fate at the hands of the Capitol. We’ll stand quietly in rows and wait for our names to be called. If it isn’t our name that rings out in the square, we’ll silently rejoice inside and thank God we’ve been spared once again. If we know the person who is reaped, then we will suffer in silence. We will grieve our friends, our neighbors and our relatives’ imminent deaths in muted cowardice. We never speak out. Our lives are just chess pieces being moved at the whim of those tyrants in the Capitol, and we allow it.

As the silence drags on between us, I make a vow to myself that if my name is called, I will do everything in my power to undercut their games. I will refuse to blindly follow. This sheep will rise up and become a wolf right before their astonished eyes.

We eat our feast in uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. Eventually, my anger fades as I realize how incredibly stupid I am. This is my precious time with Katniss, possibly the last time I’ll ever see her, and I’m wasting it being angry at her. This day should be for caring, not fighting. There will be enough of that by the end of the week.

“What do you want to do?” she asks, and I’m relieved she’s thinking the same thing I am. We have more important things to do than argue with each other.

“Let’s fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight,” I answer.

With our disagreement forgotten, we head off into the woods. We do very well. By late morning, we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens, and, best of all, a gallon of strawberries, thanks to me and my idea of stringing mesh nets over them to keep the animals out.

We stop by the Hob on the way home and make some very nice trades: some of the fish for some good bread and salt, some greens for parafin. We go to the mayor’s house to sell some of the strawberries. Unfortunately, we have to speak with spoiled little Madge who is already all decked out for the festivities this afternoon.

She’s wearing a dress I could sell and use the money to feed my family for a good six months. Her blonde hair is filled with pink ribbons, all very girly and sweet. Girls like Madge always throw glances my way, flirt with me, and prance about in front of me like they’re putting on a show, but I ignore them. They don’t interest me in the least. In fact, they turn my stomach with their simpering. I’ll take one Catnip over a hundred of them any day.

“Pretty dress,” I say, trying hard to keep the sarcasm at bay for Katniss’s sake.

“Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?” she says and smiles.

I want to vomit. Madge is nothing but a sheep in pretty clothes. And does she really think she’ll ever be reaped? What is the poor dumb girl thinking? She stands as much chance of being picked as my mother, which is zero. She’s never had to buy tesserae every year like we have.

“You won’t be going to the Capitol,” I say coolly. “What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old.” Stupid, mindless sheep.

“That’s not her fault,” Katniss says.

“No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is,” I say, fighting to hold my tongue and only speak the acceptable. In the woods, and only with Katniss, can I truly place the blame where it belongs. Only with her can I rant against the Capitol and threaten to the heavens what I want to do to each and every one of the people who oppress us. Here, in front of the mayor’s daughter, I spout the same garbage everyone does.

Madge’s face goes blank. She gives Katniss money for half of the berries and wishes her luck. No luck for me, apparently, as she completely ignores me. I’m fine with that, because, in my opinion, a man creates his own luck in this world.

We walk toward the Seam in silence. I can sense that Katniss is upset with me over Madge, but what does she expect from me? I am so tired of the inequity of the system. The poorest of the poor are always the easiest victims, and the better off among us will always come out ahead. I, for one, am waiting to see some games with the Capitol residents pitted against each other, or better yet, pitted against us. A fair fight, or an unfair fight, it makes no nevermind to me which it is, as long as we come out the winners and they’re all dead. I long for that day in the deepest caverns of my heart.

We divide our spoils and prepare to go our separate ways, home and to get prepared for The Reaping. My good mood of this morning is gone. I can never seem to maintain the happiness I feel in the woods with Katniss out here in the coal-dust covered streets of our reality.

“See you in the square,” she says.

“Wear something pretty,” I say flatly, then immediately regret my words. Katniss isn’t Madge. She isn’t going to go home and primp in front of her mirror. As she turns and walks away from me, I hope in my heart of hearts she wears just what she has on right now: her hunting clothes and her hair tied back at her neck. To me, that is when she’s at her loveliest.

 ************************

I arrive at the square at precisely one o’clock, and am herded into the enclosure for prospective tributes. Because I’m among the oldest, I get a front row position behind the ropes. Katniss will be two groups behind me. Her sister, Prim, will be clear in the back and out of either one of our views. I glance over my shoulder, to the right and left, but I don’t see Katniss yet.

I have on my best clothes: pants and a plain white shirt. Not that I care. At my mother’s insistence, I’d taken a bath, shaved and washed my hair. It was a waste of my time, but I’d kept my mouth shut and done it for her. For some reason I can’t fathom, it’s important to her that I look my best when I receive my death sentence.

I look around me. Friends, neighbors and some people I hardly know, are all crowded together inside the ropes like cattle being readied for the slaughter. Although I pride myself in being strong and fairly nourished with my diet of wild game, most of those standing around me are starving. Weak. Hopeless. Just like the Capital wants us to be. There is no way we can band together and defeat them even if we wish to. They’ve made sure of that. The whole display disgusts me, but I hide my feelings, like everyone else.

This is why I hate the Capitol. I hate them for subjugating me, for turning me into a coward like everyone else around me. Where is my angry bluster now?? I rant in the woods where it’s safe, but here? I’m silent. Angry and silent. My subconcious tells me I’m only being smart. I’m just one man against a mountain. To speak up at the Reaping would be suicide. My only chance is to get picked to go to the games, then wreak as much havoc there as I can.

I glance over my shoulder again, looking for Katniss. This time I see her, and am taken by complete surprise. She looks beautiful in the soft blue dress, but I know someone else is behind it. Probably her mother. Katniss isn’t one to care about fancy clothes and hairbows. Still, she looks very pretty with her hair put up in braids on top of her head. I’ve never seen her this way, and I like it. It’s just a shame it’s all for the Capitol and not for me.

We lock eyes across the distance. A small, brave smile is all she gives me, and an infintissimal nod is all I give her in return. The square on Reaping Day is not the place to show your innermost feelings unless you want them crushed underneath the Capitol’s boot.

I turn my attention away from Katniss and to the crowd. I catch my family’s eyes. They’re standing fairly close to the perimeter and holding each other’s hands. They all know—even my younger siblings know—that my chances are not good. I see the silent goodbyes in their expressions, even though my mother is trying to stay brave. I love them so much, and to think this may be the last day I’ll be with them. The thought of not seeing them again makes my heart hurt, like someone is ripping jagged holes in it with a knife, and through those gaping holes, my anger rushes out like the raging waters of a flash flood.

Because, behind my mother, I see the grifters closing in. Scum. The lowest form of life that exists in the Seam. I hate them almost as much as I hate the simpering fools in the Capitol. These people who are residents of District 12, thread quietly through the crowd and take bets on who will be chosen. They use the Reaping to put money in their pockets. They spy for the Capitol and turn in their neighbors. I consider them nothing but filthy traitors to their own people and hope that one day they get what they deserve. Just because you have no one to lose doesn’t mean you turn your back on the rest.

The time is getting close at hand. Madge’s father, Mayor Undersee, walks out onto the stage, followed by Effie Trinket, District 12’s escort. She looks ridiculous in her ugly green suit and outlandish pink hair. If the people in the Capitol only knew how much they disgust us, how we ridicule them behind their backs and make fun of their affected accent.

The town clock strikes two. It’s time. A hush falls over the square as the mayor steps up to the podium and recites the same drivel he does every year about the history of Panem. I tune him out and sneak a quick glance behind me at Katniss. She flicks her eyes my way in acknowlegment, but gives me nothing else. I sigh inwardly and turn back around.

He’s talking about the Dark Days now, and how they can never be repeated, that the games are a necessary reminder from the Capitol. He can shut up and save his breath as far as I’m concerned, because the Dark Days are here, alive and well. We live them every single day of our lives as we scrabble for enough food to keep us barely alive and watch our friends and family die off like flies. I think to myself, as I listen to him drone on and on, that Mayor Undersee would look much better with an arrow sticking out of his eye. Then I have to fight not to laugh at the image.

“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” intones the mayor.

He reads off the list of past District 12 victors, which takes all of five seconds. We’ve only had two, and only one is still alive: Haymitch Abernathy, and he’s a disgrace to the human race. A blubbering drunk who had the balls once to survive the games, but who lost them when he came out. As hard as he fought, he just gave up after it was over. I have no respect for him. Losers like him aren’t the kind of people we need to win against the Capitol. To gain our freedom we have to be strong and tenacious, not falling off of stages in a drunken stupor.

We applause at his antics, but it’s an empty coming together of our hands. The whole thing is nothing but a show we have all seen too many times before. We respond like automotons, as we are expected to do. Mindless sheep.  The only good thing to come out of Haymitch’s drunken display is it is embarrassing the mayor and his precious district, which pleases me. I have no loyalty to him or any other people of his kind. They’re puppets on a string and they feel no shame in the role they play in this cruel game.

That idiot, Effie Trinket, finally trots in to save the day and to keep the ceremony from completely falling apart. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” she shouts enthusiastically.

Her wig is crooked and she looks ridiculous. I sneak a glance over my shoulder at Katniss and risk a small smile. The entertainment factor of this particular reaping looks quite promising, if one can only forget that two of us will soon be sentenced to certain death.

It’s time for the drawing.

“Ladies first!” she squawks in her outlandish Capitol accent.

I hold my breath and start to pray unceasingly. _Please, not my Catnip. Not Catnip. Not Catnip._ Over and over I repeat it in my head.

Effie reaches in and digs out a slip of paper. We all draw in a collective breath and hold it.

_Not Catnip. Please, God, not her._

She crosses the stage back to the podium and reads the name aloud in a clear, strong voice. The bitch acts like she’s giving an award to some lucky recipient.  

“Prim Everdeen!” she crows gloriously to the crowd.

 _Oh God, no! Not Prim! NO!!_ She only had one god-damned slip of paper in the bowl!

Panic grabs hold of me. There is no way I can kill Prim. She’s like a sister to me. I’d die first before I’d kill that sweet little girl.  My hatred for the Capitol grows exponentially as the seconds tick by. I whip around, searching frantically for Katniss in the crowd, but I can’t find her. Where the hell is she??!!

“Prim!!”

I recognize the strangled cry and finally locate her in the mass of bodies. Katniss is panicked, shocked, crushed. As am I.

“I volunteer!!” she shouts. “I volunteer as tribute!”

_No!! CATNIP, NO!_

“Lovely!” says Effie Trinket. “But I believe there’s a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…”

“What does it matter?” says the mayor gruffly. “Just let her come forward.”

Rage gnaws at me at his heartlessness. Katniss and I put food in that bastard’s mouth. He even presented her and Prim with a medal of valor when their father was blew to smithereens in the mines. Does he not remember any of that? He probably does, but he doesn’t care. His precious spoiled daughter is safe.

My attention is diverted by Prim’s piercing cries. “No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!”

I search for them in the crowd and Prim is pitifully hanging onto her leg with her skinny arms and begging her not to go in her place. I look at Katniss’s face and realize she’s barely holding it together. Prim’s pleading is going to cause her to fall apart, and I know she doesn’t want to do that, not in front of all of these people, and the Capitol. My Catnip is strong, and she hates weakness in herself. 

I push through the bodies and pry Prim off of her leg, scooping her up into my arms. “Up you go,” I say. She fights me as best as she can, and it breaks my heart to see the pain in her young eyes. I whisk her away from Katniss and return her to her mother.

“Well, bravo!” gushes Effie Trinket. “That’s the spirit of the Games!”

An arrow in her eye wouldn’t be nearly enough to satisfy me. I want to kill everyone even remotely connected to this travesty. Everyone on the stage for participating in it. Haymitch for giving up. The Peacekeepers for keeping us under their boot. The traitorous spies that are our neighbors. President Snow. All of them. None will be spared if I ever have a chance to take them out.  Because they’ve taken my Catnip and I’ll never forgive them for that.

“What’s your name?” Effie is presenting Katniss to the crowd now.

“Katniss Everdeen,” she says.

“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let’s give a round of applause to our newest tribute!” she trills in excitement.

No one claps. Not one person. Not even the traitors, holding their forgotten betting slips in their hands. No one.  For once, I’m proud of us. Katniss has put food in nearly everyone’s mouth in this square at one time or another, either directly or indirectly through her trades in the Hob. The older ones most likely knew her father, or had shopped in her mother’s apothecary at one time or another. And nearly everyone knew and loved Prim.  I am immensely proud of the defiant silence that surrounds me.

Then, someone, (and I never found out who) puts three fingers to their lips and holds it out to Katniss, signifying honor, admiration, and goodbye. The gesture spread silently, but swiftly, through the crowd like wildfire. I join them and give Katniss a silent kiss of profound respect. Then Haymitch spoils the reverent moment with his drunken admiration of our female tribute. After a few seconds of listening to his drivel, I realize he isn’t talking to us. He’s talking to the Capitol.

“I like her! Lots of…” He wobbles as he searches for the correct word. “Spunk!” he shouts triumphantly. “More than _you!_ ” He points directly at the camera, then promptly falls off the stage, apparently knocking himself unconscious.

The entertainment portion of the show is over. Haymitch’s attempt at defiance is nothing short of pathetic. No one takes a drunkard seriously.

I worry about Katniss, though. She’s giving the appearance of being strong, with her hands clasped behind her back, even in the midst of Haymitch’s idiocy. I can’t imagine what is going through her mind, but I know what is in mine, and it terrifies me. The male tribute is most likely going to be me. Forty-two slips of paper. Me and Katniss, fighting each other to the death. I feel like puking my breakfast and dinner onto my feet as Effie zips back to the podium. I barely have time to say a silent prayer before she whips out a slip of paper and reads the name to the crowd.

“Peeta Mellark.”

Peeta Mellark? The baker’s son??

I have no time for relief. Instead, I watch curiously as the guy makes his way to the stage. He’s of medium height, with a stocky build. I don’t know much about him personally, as he’s always been rather quiet. I’ve seen him carrying bags of grain around the bakery, and he’s obviously well-fed and strong, but he strikes me as the timid type. Katniss can take him. I’m sure of it.

Effie asks for volunteers to take his place. No one does. Not surprising. Male tributes rarely garner any sympathy from the crowd. Family devotion only goes so far, after all. I am sorry for his father, though. Mr. Mellark is a good man, and has always been honest in his dealings with me and Katniss.

But when I look back at Katniss, I’m at a loss to understand her expression. She looks momentarily stricken, as if she regrets him being chosen. Does she know him that well? As far as I knew, the only prolonged contact she’d had with him was during our silent exchanges of food and money with his father. He’d never spoken to either one of us. He was always a silent figure in the background during our transactions.

Katniss and Peeta shake hands and then the anthem of Panem plays, signifying the end of the reaping.

I study Peeta one last time before he is whisked away. He’s physically strong, but I don’t think he has the emotional fortitude to get through the games.  Yes. Katniss can definitely take him.

 

***********************

The reaping is over. The crowd has dispersed, heading home to start their half-hearted celebrations. I tell my mother I will be home later. I have to see Katniss before she’s taken away. I have to talk to her one last time.

I immediately and harshly chastise myself for being so negative. Katniss is a better huntress than anyone I’ve ever seen. She can kill with deadly accuracy with that bow of hers. She’s strong, and she has an iron will to survive. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. She’s tenacious and brave. She’s going to come out the winner in this thing. She can do it. I have complete faith in her, so I force myself to stop thinking as if this day is the last time I will ever see her.

“I want to see Katniss,” I say to the Peacekeeper who is guarding the door to the rooms where Katniss has been taken.

“You’ll have to wait,” he says gruffly. “There’s people ahead of you.”

I look around, and the square is deserted except for Peacekeepers and the tributes’ families. I notice that Madge is hovering around her father and I wonder why she’s still here. She’s safe from the games. She should go home and start celebrating. I wonder if she’ll be able to eat the strawberries that Katniss sold her this morning without choking?

I lean against the wall and watch the people go in ahead of me. First, Katniss’s mother and Prim. Both meet my eyes as they pass, but we say nothing to each other. This is a day of profound sadness for them. What can I say that will take away their pain? All I can do is make sure Katniss’s family survives. I will willingly take their care and well-being onto my shoulders. They will be kept safe and as well-fed as I can manage while Katniss is gone.  After the Everdeens leave, Mr. Mellark approaches the door. He hesitates when he reaches me. I feel I have to say something, because I truly like the man. He’s honest and he actually cares about the people in this place.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

He just nods and then keeps on walking toward the doorway. He disappears inside and I wonder what he is saying to his son. What do you say to someone when you know you may never see them alive again? What words do you choose in those last few moments of being together?

After awhile, I’m surprised to see Madge approaching the building. So this is why she is hanging around. To see Katniss one last time? Or maybe she’s sweet on Peeta? I have no idea, but I feel my temper rise as I wonder what in the world she can possibly want to say to either one of them.

She’s not in there for long, and she avoids my eyes as she leaves. It’s my turn. Finally. I have no earthly idea what I’m going to say to Katniss. I’m scared, is what I am. Even though the odds are in her favor that she’ll do well in the games and return to her family…and _me…_ I can’t help but remember that the odds haven’t been worth very much of anything today.

I have no idea what I’m going to do or say when I see her, but apparently my subconscious already had it all planned out. As soon as I lay eyes on her, I reach for her. I want to hold her. It’s my instinct to protect her, and I know she wouldn’t like knowing that. She takes pride in her inner strength, and she’s hesitant to place her trust in anyone but herself, and perhaps, me. That doesn’t offend me. In fact, I understand it all too well. There are very few people who can be implicitly trusted in this world, but I am holding one of them in my arms.

We silently embrace each other for a long time. I love the way she feels against me: soft and pliant. I don’t think Katniss has any idea how I feel about her, and I’m not sure she feels anything for me but friendship, but in those few moments of holding her, I know what the most important thing is I must say to her before she leaves. In the meantime, I luxuriate in this closeness with her, the smell of her hair, the sound of her heart beating against my chest, the softness of her skin. I can barely stand the thought of her being in those games. How am I going to watch her being hunted like an animal? How will I stand seeing her wounded and not being able to help her?

She pulls away from my arms and I feel a great emptiness. I should have appreciated the time we had together a lot more than I did. I squandered so much of our moments ranting about the government when I should have been talking to her. I have been such an idiot, but it’s too late now. Right now, at this one moment in time, the only useful thing I have to give her is advice.

“Listen,” I say. “Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you’ve got to get your hands on a bow. That’s your best chance.”

“They don’t always have bows,” she says.

“Then make one. Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all.”

“I don’t even know if there’ll be wood,” she says.

“There’s almost always some wood. Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that.”

“Yes, there’s usually some,” she admits, but she doesn’t sound as optimistic as I’d like.

“Katniss,” I say, grabbing onto her shoulders. “It’s just hunting. You’re the best hunter I know.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just hunting. They’re armed. They think. It’s not like hunting animals.”

“Well, you can think, too. And you’ve had a lot more practice than them. Real practice. You know how to kill.”

“Not people,” she says softly.

She’s scaring me now, because she can’t afford to go soft in the games. One moment of weakness and she’ll be taken down.  “Katniss,” I say grimly, looking deep into her eyes and willing her to listen. “Listen to me. How different can it be, really?”

Then the Peacekeepers are there, telling me I have to leave. I haven’t had enough time. There is so much more that we need to say to each other, that I need to say to _her_. As they’re taking her away, I see the panic rise up in full force in her eyes. It’s contagious. I’m so scared for her and I don’t want to let go.

“Don’t let them starve!” she cries out, desperately clinging to my hand.

“I won’t! You know I won’t! I’ll take care of them!”

The man starts to drag her away. She’s almost gone and I still haven’t said what I need to say. “Katniss, remember I—“

The door slams and she's gone.

“—love you,” I whisper to the empty room. “I love you, Catnip.”

 

**** The End ****

 

 **Author’s Note** : _“I love you, Catnip.”_ Suzanne Collins never wrote those words. She denied Gale his voice. I'm glad that he finally got to say them, even if Katniss didn't hear them.

 


End file.
